


Faith in Strangers

by Mangohyena



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gun Violence, Inspired by Zootopia (2016), Mild Sexual Content, Mother-Son Relationship, Organized Crime, Police, Psychotropic Drugs, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangohyena/pseuds/Mangohyena
Summary: After a botched drug deal, a traumatised Nick finds solace in an unassuming mammal.Faith in Strangers also has a playlist - https://open.spotify.com/user/applemarshmallows/playlist/0yP6AzHDCppb9ddS6XblJZ?si=x8b-aLhjSl-_I2LiTAHHBg





	1. Gas Station

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BIYV3BLcno
> 
> (Any illegal drugs mentioned are entirely fictitious)

Faith in Strangers

Chapter 1 – Gas Station

11:36pm   June 20th   2012

The warm summer air whistled through the bullet holes in the ‘71 Mustang’s windshield, ruffling the red fur of my face slightly. It might have been relaxing, had the cracked glass not been a constant reminder of things I wished I could forget.

But I guess we all had it coming.

My sweaty paws held the wheel like a vice, as if the smallest swerve of the car might alert the whole damn world to what I’d done, and I found myself nervously checking the rear view mirror for about the thousandth time, but like all the times before, there were no blue and red flashing lights and no wailing sirens. I would have turned the radio on, but the antennae had been shot off.

“ _Fuck_ ”

My teeth clenched hard as a fresh wave of pain spiked through my left shoulder, telling me again that there was a twisted piece of lead lodged somewhere in all that muscle and bone. Being practically surrounded by guns for the past few years, the curious fox in me had always pondered what being shot might feel like. Where on my body would that fateful bullet hit? How long would it take for me to die? I counted myself lucky that the last question hadn’t been answered yet, but the unexpectedly large amount of bleeding I was doing kept the thought fresh in my mind. It seeped relentlessly from the wound, making me horribly nauseous and staining my once black jacket and white shirt a dark new shade of scarlet. There was blood on the front passenger seat too, but that wasn’t mine. Even over the low growl of the engine I could sometimes hear it drip from the headrest.

Thinking of the mammal that’d once been sat there made me sniffle, so I hastily wiped my eyes with the arm that didn’t hurt and focused back on the road. My options were limited, but I knew if I kept on this highway, I could be out of state within the hour. Then I just had to avoid every police officer in the entire country for the rest of my life, and somehow explain to the hospital how my ‘mysterious’ gunshot wound had appeared. I sighed. There was no way I could go back to Sahara Square, and ignoring the fact that the ZPD would almost certainly catch me before I could blink, there was no guarantee that the boss would be any kinder. My fuck up had cost lives, and that would mean punishment. Being stuck between a rock and a hard place had left me with only one choice: run away and hide from both.

Against the endless blurry canvas of barren fields, night sky and yellow headlights I noticed a lonesome gas station sign in the distance, and an unsavoury idea crept into my head. I fumbled around in my jacket pocket, wincing as my shoulder objected, until my right paw closed around the familiar plastic grip of the Colt 44 Revolver. I reluctantly pulled it out and flipped the bullet chamber open. There were two rounds left.

“One for me and one for the car,” I muttered dryly.

The cold chrome finish of the gun seemed to conceal how dirty and hideous a tool it had become. I wanted it to feel pain like I did, I wanted to watch it bend and snap like a stick under the wheels of the traffic, but I knew I needed it for what I was about to do. My paws had begun to shake, either from blood loss, nerves or a cruel combination of the two, so I shoved the revolver back into my pocket, trying to steady my ragged breathing.

The gas station was only a few yards away now, and I saw I was in luck. The refuelling area was completely empty, and the small convenience store was still lit up. Passing the flashing neon sign, I slowed and turned into the dusty parking lot. I stopped the car by one of the old pumps, and after what had felt like years of driving, finally cut the engine. The relief was glorious as I slumped back in my seat, inhaling deeply and allowing a few brief moments to enjoy the new found silence.

I looked towards the lonely store, where the silhouette of a rabbit at the cashier desk caught my eye. The last decent part of my conscience was imploring me to just drive away until I ran out of gas, to leave this innocent mammal out of the shit-storm I’d helped create, but I was desperate, and the selfish part of my mind had always been louder. With another groan, I pushed the car door open and lethargically climbed out into the barmy air, where I was hit by another rush of sickness as I straightened my shoulder. The store had ‘Bunny Burrow Bargains’ crudely painted in orange on one of the windows, and the scent of carrots and wheat was heavy in the air. I smirked half-heartedly, realising I’d driven deep into redneck rabbit country.

My Mustang looked as beaten and bloody from the outside as I did, with jagged holes littering the red bonnet and radiator grill. I’d always loved this car, and leaving it here felt like leaving a part of myself behind to rot. I frowned. Maybe the world would be better off with less of me around.

Stiffly, I walked through the store’s automatic doors and into the blindingly bright, air-conditioned interior, keeping my left arm tightly up against my chest in an effort to lessen the pain. I could see the rabbit clearly now. She looked young; around late teens or early twenties I thought, with pleasant ash-grey coloured fur, ear tips dusted black and a light pink nose that didn’t want to stop twitching. Under a pair of weathered and greying denim dungarees she wore a white oil-stained t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She was leaning on the counter, her tired, half-lidded eyes staring absentmindedly at the phone in her paw. Even from a distance I noticed the brilliant purple of her irises.

My mind began to wander, thinking about where the doe might live, who her parents were, and whether she was happy working night shifts in a place like this, with mammals like me roaming around. As I approached, she looked up from her phone in surprise and smiled warmly at me. I felt a stab of guilt in my gut.

“Sorry, you caught me off guard there! I don’t tend to get many customers on night shifts, and foxes are pretty rare round here,” Her voice was exuberant but a little distant, “What can I do for you?”

I swallowed anxiously.

“Do you have a car?” I asked; my voice fatigued and blank.

Her expression turned more quizzical, “Uhhh... Why do you ask?”

A long conversation was the last thing I wanted at the moment, so I huffed impatiently, “Just tell me,” I said more forcefully.

The corners of her smile slowly faded as I noticed her staring intently at my left shoulder. I had tried to pull the jacket’s lapel as far across my chest as possible to cover some of the blood, but by now the red had spread across almost the entire shirt.

“S-Sir, do you need me to call an ambulance?” She questioned quietly, starting to look visibly nervous.

This was it; there was no going back now. In one fairly swift movement, I pulled the revolver from my pocket and pointed it directly at the rabbit’s head.

“I’m not gonna ask again _Carrots_. _Do you have a car_?”

The effect was immediate. Her eyes grew wide as saucers, her body stiffened and her breathing became erratic and shaky.

“...yeah it’s uh... It’s out round the back of the store,” The reply was barely audible as she choked out the words between breaths, “J-Just, please, don’t shoot... You can take anything you want, I’m not gonna stop you, I swear.”

An adrenaline-fuelled high and a deep sense of shame both rushed through my system, adding to my already rapid heartbeat.

“Where do you live?” Was the next question I needed answering.

She hesitated before replying, keeping her terrified gaze locked firmly on the gun, “Just outside B-Bunny Burrow, on a farm.”

I should have expected it, but that wasn’t the answer I’d been wanting.

“Does anyone else live there?”

“Y-yeah, my family...” There was the slightest hint of defiance in her voice.

I sighed dejectedly, “Is there anywhere in this _fucking_ farmland that’s not stuffed full of bunny hicks?”

Her brows furrowed as she quickly shook her head, “Rabbits aren’t usually too concerned with privacy.”

Finding that hard to believe, I moved the gun closer to the bunny’s face and her eyes followed it.

“I need you to give me your phone,” I tried in vain to make myself sound intimidating, hating every second of it, “Then you can show me your car, ok?”

“Ok,” she nodded nervously, handing over a Smartphone that I uncomfortably tucked inside my jacket. The pain in my shoulder had ignited familiar cravings for alcohol, and I noticed several medium-mammal sized bottles of ‘Buck Daniel’s’ on a shelf behind the counter.

“I’ll have one of those too,” I said, gesturing my gun towards the bottles.

She turned, reaching uneasily to pick one off the shelf before placing it on the counter. I snatched it up with the gun still in my paw, unscrewed the top with my teeth and gulped down almost a quarter of the sweet whiskey in one go, savouring the burning warmth that spread through my chest. Putting the bottle into my outer pocket, I pointed the firearm back at my target.

“Ok, let’s see this car.”

Her movement was tense as she walked towards the store’s back door, the silver muzzle of my gun only inches away from the back of her head. Passing the shelves lined with drinks and snacks, she unlocked the metal door and we trudged out into the night. The harsh glow of the outside light was enough to give me a view of her car. It was an old pick-up truck, smaller than I was used to, sporting a ’01 license plate, and light blue under the many layers of dust and dirt. At any other time I might have found its kitsch aesthetic endearing.

“You’re driving,” I muttered as she started towards the passenger door.

Bracing myself for the incoming pain, I opened the truck door and clambered unsteadily onto the bunny-sized passenger seat. The rabbit followed on the opposite side, seating herself behind the steering wheel. She paused, inhaled weakly, and turned a key in the ignition, making the engine splutter to life with a dirty roar. I rested the Colt on my lap, making sure to keep it discreetly aimed at her below the truck’s dashboard. In silence, she drove the pick-up steadily out of the back parking lot, turning left onto the highway that I’d become very friendly with.

As I rolled down the window, letting the soft night breeze cool my face, I thought about the possibility of the bunny trying to run or fight back. Would I be able to shoot her? Was I heartless enough to deprive brothers, sisters, partners and parents of someone they probably loved for the second time in my life?

I didn’t think so.

Images of her head exploding in a cloud of red flashed through my mind, forcing back a familiar nausea that I never wanted to experience again. Too much blood had already been spilt today, and I wasn’t going to add to the body count.

“U-um, where do you wanna go?” I heard her ask quietly, wide eyes locked on the road ahead.

“Keep driving until I tell y-”My sentence was cut off as I felt the bullet in my shoulder grind against some bone. A bout of burning agony flooded my senses, making my stomach churn and my eyes water.

“Pull over...” I spat out between clenched teeth.

“But we’ve only been driving a few minutes,” She countered anxiously.

“Just _do it,_ ” I writhed in my seat, each bump of the road bringing a new wave of sickness.

Gradually slowing the truck, she pulled it over by a dusty wire fence.

“Give me the keys,” I demanded hurriedly, and she complied, switching the engine off and handing me a rubber carrot key-ring with the car key attached.

With no time to spare, I opened the truck door and promptly vomited the little I’d eaten today onto the road. It was both satisfying and disgusting.

I knew it was pathetic, but being sick seemed to have dusted away some mental cobwebs. The hopelessness of my situation had begun to sink in as I leant hunched over on the dashboard, feeling the throbbing in my shoulder gradually subside to less scream-worthy levels. I’d lost all motivation to even _try_ and hide from the law, let alone keep someone else hostage. Like the bunny had been trying to tell me; there was nowhere to go, nowhere I would be safe, and no one I could turn to for help. I gently slouched back into the hard seat, closing my eyes and letting my breathing slow. Maybe I could just rest here for a while.

Minutes passed, with the only noise being the distant chirrup of cicadas and the faint sighing of the wind through the window.

“What’s your name?” The rabbit inquired softly, breaking the relative silence.

Surprised by the question, I glanced over at her. She still looked scared, but her blue eyes were now sparked with curiosity and her ears were slightly less pricked. I didn’t want to reply, so I decided to stare out the open window instead.

“I-I’m Judy,” She continued uneasily, “If you wanted to know.”

I turned to her again, replying coldly, “I didn’t, but thanks anyway.”

She looked away defeated and an uncomfortable silence followed. I huffed. Perhaps telling her my name might not be the end of the world; it wasn’t like I had anyone else to talk to.

“My name’s Nick,” I muttered.

The faint ghost of a smile flashed across her nervous face.

“So uh...” She loosely gestured to her own shoulder, “how did _that_ happen?”

Memories of the gunshot that had been close to killing me burrowed into my head like parasites.

“‘ _That’_ isn’t something you need to know about,” I retorted sourly, grimacing.

Another long quiet ensued, and in the dark truck interior I found myself missing the small snippets of conversation. I wasn’t sure why, but talking to the rabbit that I had only moments ago been threatening with a gun made me feel slightly warmer inside, even if she was asking questions I simply didn’t have the strength to answer yet.

“D’ya like working in that shop?” I hesitantly asked.

“Not really...” Judy said, “But it’s a job, and it helps me pay rent when I’m at college, so I shouldn’t complain.”

It seemed the bunny farmer was full of surprises.

“You go to college?” I asked.

“Mhm, down in Lapinsville,” She replied.

I didn’t know where that was, but the name suggested lots more rabbits.

“What’s your major?” I inquired, expecting something like ‘carrot agriculture’.

For a few seconds she didn’t respond, preferring to fiddle with her paws, but after a sigh she finally came out with it.

“Criminology”

My eyebrows rose with the realisation of how ironic our current situation was.

“Well, consider this a paws-on learning experience,” I said with a weak chuckle.

I was curious now, “What’s a bunny like you gonna do with a degree like that?” I asked.

“I uh... I dunno yet,” She said uneasily.

After years of practice, lying was one of the art forms I considered myself best at, and that made sniffing out someone who wasn’t used to bending the truth quite easy. Judy was definitely lying about her job prospects.

Not wanting to make the air any tenser, I let it slide.

“I almost went to college,” I said, looking out the windscreen to the dim road ahead, “But stuff got in the way. Stuff always gets in the way.”

“Why, what happened?” She asked.

“This _thing_ happened,” I replied, holding up my gun briefly, “I dunno, I mean, I was mixed up with the wrong crowd way before then, but it all seemed to get more serious after high school.”

“Was it to do with drugs, or-?”

“Mostly,” I said, nodding, “I went from selling to other kids in the playground, to doing thousand dollar deals with mammals in pin-stripe suits about a year later. It was pretty crazy, and not in a good way.”

“Jeez...” Judy muttered.

“That’s why I got given the gun; to protect myself from all the other crooks with guns,” I said bitterly, “And this is where it got me...”

She sounded surprised, “Wait, that was a _gift_?”

“Yeah, a friend gave it to me for my birthday,” I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my voice went quiet, “That day was fucking terrible.”

Looking at her concerned expression, I realised how personal everything was getting, and I began to fidget like a bored kit.

“ _Fucking hell_ , what am I doing?” I sputtered out shakily, gripping the handle of my Colt slightly tighter, “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Hey,” She replied, “If it’ll help, I don’t mind listening.”

Her words sounded more sincere than any I’d heard in a while, and her face held no semblance of malice or deceit. I frowned at the floor, considering whether or not detailing my personal history to a relative stranger was wise.

“You really wanna know the story behind this gun?” I asked warily.

She nodded.

I sighed, “Just gimme a sec.”

I put down the gun, pulled the bottle of stolen whiskey out from my jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap and chugged back another quarter of the sweet liquor.

Stealing myself, I took some deep breaths and began to talk.

 

* * *

 


	2. Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs probably playing on Finnick's favourite radio station:  
> > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDMhlvbOFaM  
> > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVucWRs-eWA  
> > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2aDHUa35FE
> 
> Recommended listening:  
> >https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dl5usKhGz60

Faith in Strangers

Chapter 2 – Gun

8:04 pm   August 3rd   2003

Lighting a cigarette in an open top convertible was easier than I’d thought. A couple of flicks on the Zippo, with my paw cradling the flame from the wind, and I could taste the bitter smoke in my mouth.

I took the first drag, rested my arm on top of the car door and blew out the smoke, admiring the mellow pink-orange glow that the setting sun cast over the passing buildings of downtown Sahara Square. The car radio was tuned to Finnick’s favourite station.

This part of Zootopia was especially sweltering in the summer, so I’d opted for a floral patterned cerulean shirt with white shorts. Finnick was, by some magic, still surviving the heat in his black jacket and maroon chinos; one of the benefits that came with having Saharan ancestors I guessed.

“So, did ‘ya fuck her?” I heard his gravelly voice ask from the driver’s seat. He was barely tall enough to see over the car’s dashboard.

Smirking, I turned to look at the miniature fox, “Who?”

“That vixen you were chewing the face off at Andre’s last night,” He replied wryly, “Don’t think I didn’t see it.”

“Oh _her_ ,” I chuckled, “Nah I didn’t, she wasn’t really my type.”

“Did get some good head though,” I added, putting the cigarette back to my lips.

“Damn Nicky, you gotta get back in the game,” He shook his head mockingly, “That girl ‘Elli’ really did a number on you didn’t she?”

My eyebrows rose, “Look _Fin,_ I ain’t taking dating advice from a dog that’s had...” I pretended to count on my paw, “ _Twenty_ separate girlfriends just this year. I wanna treat women with respect ya know?”

Finnick laughed in response, “You’re just jealous you ain’t got my silver tongue.”

“Yeah, are all Fennecs whores or is it just you?” I rolled my eyes, “Besides, I was the one who ended it with Elli; she was fucking that wolf behind my back.”

I scowled and took another drag, thinking about the silver vixen I’d been besotted with until two months ago.

“All I’m sayin’ is you’ll lose your touch if you leave it too long,” He said, turning the car into a quieter residential area. My Mom’s apartment wasn’t far away now.

“I’m not gonna forget how to fuck, for god’s sake,” I retorted, “It’s like riding a bike, you don’t just forget.”

He smirked, “Yeah, but I think you’ve probably ridden a bike more than _twice_ Nick.”

As I finished the last of my cigarette, flicking the butt out onto the street, Finnick pulled the convertible up against the curb and stopped the engine.

“Right,” I said, reaching into the back to retrieve my Puma rucksack, “I’ve had enough of this bullying, so I’ll catch ya tomorrow.”

“Hey, hey, hey...” He pointed at me with his paw, “I ain’t finished with you yet.”

My expression went dead pan as I slouched back into my seat, “What? You gonna propose or something?”

“Better than that,” He answered, smiling, “Look, I know you think I forgot your birthday, but that just ain’t true. Your present was an absolute _bitch_ to get, and I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I looked at him quizzically. It was true, he hadn’t even talked about giving me a present on my birthday, but I’d put that down to his usual ‘ _too cool for stuff_ ’ attitude. Finnick had never struck me as the generous type.

“Check the glove box,” He said.

Doing as he wanted, I pulled the handle on the box and watched it fall open. Inside was a very shiny, very new looking revolver. I was stunned into silence.

“Happy nineteenth Nick”

“Holy shit...” I grinned, “Is this real?!”

Finnick nodded, “One hundred percent authentic.”

I picked up the weighty gun carefully, my paws vibrating with a mixture of fear and delight. It was beautiful in a very frigid way, with a long silver barrel and a six round bullet chamber that reflected the warm evening light. The moulded plastic handle had a small rivet at its centre, engraved with the words ‘ _Colt Anaconda- medium mammal’._

For the past seven years I’d wanted this, wanted to feel like a real ‘businessman’, and holding the chrome weapon firmly in my paw, I knew that this was the start of something new, something important and best of all, something thrilling. Now, I could finally conquer my own small world.

“Ya like it?” Finnick asked, snapping me out of my criminal fantasies.

“I-It’s fucking incredible...” I breathed out, “How could you afford something like this?”

He chuckled and looked at me slyly, “Well I talked to Andre down at the bar, and he said he knew a mammal that could get quality fire-arms on the cheap, so I phoned him up. And before you ask _again_ , it definitely ain’t fake; I had the boss give it a once over before I gave it to you.”

“I dunno what to say...” The childish smile on my face showed no signs of drooping, “Thanks Fin, this... This means a lot to me.”

His eyebrows rose, “Now don’t go gettin’ all soppy on my ass Nick, I just figured ‘cos things are heatin’ up at work you might need somethin’ to get you outta those sticky situations.”

“Well I think this’ll do the trick,” I said, gleefully spinning the bullet chamber around, “You got any ammo, or do I have to actually _pay_ for that?”

“I ain’t made of money Nick,” He replied blandly.

I smirked, “Aww, and there was me thinking I finally had my own sugar daddy.”

He didn’t look amused, “I’m gonna shoot you with that thing if you don’t get outta my car.”

“Ugh, fine,” I said sarcastically, unzipping my bag and carefully placing the gun underneath a sweater, beside two wads of cash and a small clear bag of blue powder. I slung the rucksack onto my back and clambered over the car door, walking casually round to the sidewalk.

“Call me if you want another date!” I shouted over to Finnick, making a ‘call me’ sign with my paw.

“Fuck off Nick!” He answered, before putting on a pair of bronze aviators and starting the convertible’s engine. I watched the orange sports car roar off down the road and round a corner.

The August heat was much more pronounced now, and I felt my fur getting sweatier with every second I stood idle. It was temperatures like this that made my spring moult worth the weeks of bad hair days.

Turning on my heel, I looked up at the familiar red-brick apartment block and started strolling towards the entrance, my tail swishing the ground behind me in contentment. After climbing a few steps, I pushed open the huge wooden door and walked into the dim foyer. The spinning ceiling fans couldn’t mask the scent of old cigarette smoke and dust that immediately greeted my sensitive snout; it was a smell I’d come to associate with home.

Viktor, the old grey ram who also happened to be our landlord, was seated in a worn out green armchair in the corner of the room. I waved to him as I passed, and he briefly glanced up from his newspaper before grunting in response. The elevator that had been broken since ’97 was still out of service, so I conceded again to another stair-marathon. It was the only exercise I got these days.

Following a few minutes of strenuous climbing, I was outside the door to apartment 402. Mom usually finished work about 6:30pm which, according to my timing, meant I should have arrived just in time for dinner. I opened the door and shuffled into the small hallway. Most of the cream coloured walls were decorated with pictures of me at various stages of development, from kindergarten kit to high school graduate. The rest of the apartment was tiny to say the least, but at the moment it was all we could afford; especially since my Mom’s job paid virtually nothing. Soon, I hoped I’d be able to save up enough money to buy my own place, and finally get out of her fur.

“Hi Mom,” I yelled in the general direction of the kitchen.

Coming home from ‘work’ I was usually met with pleasant cooking smells, but this time my hungry nose picked up nothing.

I frowned slightly, “Mom?”

Silence followed.

“Nick, can you come in here please?” I heard her ask with an eerie quietness.

Swallowing, I complied and stepped into the kitchen. Her slender scarlet figure was seated at the small wooden dining table. She was still wearing her navy cleaning uniform, and her head was bowed towards the ground, ears flattened backwards. I could just make out her paws fiddling with something under the table.

“Mom, are you ok?” I questioned worriedly.

She looked up at me with sore blue eyes; it was immediately obvious she’d been crying.

“Care to explain this..?” She stuttered, holding up the object she’d been fidgeting with.

My blood ran cold.

The bag of blue powder was unmistakeable.

It felt like a sledgehammer had been hit violently into my gut as I tried desperately to form words. How had she found that? Had she deliberately checked under my bedroom floorboards?

“I-I...it’s uh...”

She didn’t wait for me to answer, “This is _howler_ Nick, it’s a _class A!_ ” Her tone of voice was getting more hostile with each passing moment, “Possession could get you _15 years!_ ”

The pure betrayal that I saw in the vixen’s bloodshot eyes was enough to start crushing my conscience beyond repair, and I felt a vitriolic defensiveness start to cloud my thoughts.

“I know what it is Mom,” I blurted out shakily.

She stood up from her chair and faced me head on, her arms convulsing with rage. I moved back slightly.

“Do you remember when you told me, no, _promised_ me you’d never get involved with this _shit?!”_ She spat the last word out with caustic anger, “Why Nick? Why did you _lie_ to me?! This stuff could _kill_ you for _fuck’s_ sake!”

Inside, I was beginning to feel numb, as if my mind was trying to convince me that none of this was actually real.

“Where did you find that?” I asked, sounding slightly sterner.

She stared wide eyed into me for a few seconds before responding, “Under your loose floorboard.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to just go through all my _personal_ stuff?” A hint of anger crept into my voice.

“I had to know Nick!” The vixen cried out, “I didn’t feel I could trust you anymore.”

It was then that I noticed the empty scotch glass on the kitchen counter.

I huffed in indignation, “You had _no_ right to do that!”

“I had _every_ right to try and keep you safe!”

A look of disgust contorted her face, “Did Finnick get you into all this!?” She shook her head, “you should never have hung around with that hood-rat.”

I could feel my paws clenching into fists as she insulted my friend.

My gaze narrowed, and I snarled slightly, “We wouldn’t even _be_ here without him.”

Mom and I both stayed silent for a moment, breathing heavily, before I slung my bag off my shoulder and let it fall heavily onto the table.

“You wanna know what we do?!” I barked, unzipping the rucksack and pulling out my new gun and the other packet of howler.

“No, Fin and I don’t sell used car parts, we sell this shit. Sometimes take it too!” I grabbed the two wads of cash and waved them in front of her frantically, “But it gives us _this,_ and without _this,_ you and I would be out on the _fucking streets!_ ”

She stared at the gun in disbelief.

“I pay for _half_ the rent already, and I dunno, maybe if you tried holding down a job for more than _two months_ I wouldn’t have to!” I exclaimed, “But ‘til that happens, if I stop selling, we _lose_ the apartment!”

Her paw pointed at me, and her words dripped with acid, “How _dare_ you talk to me like that, I work my _fucking ass_ off for us.”

I sneered back at her, “No you don’t! You spend all our spare cash on _liquor_ and drink yourself to sleep every night! That’s why you keep getting fired, you’re too fucking drunk to function! You think I don’t notice all the empty bottles that get piled up every week?!”

“Oh, _you have no idea what I’ve been going through!”_ The entirety of her body shook with hot anger.

I pointed my paw viciously at her, “No, I know _exactly_ what you’re going through!” My voice roared with fury, “You still haven’t gotten over the fact that _Dad_ _didn’t want you anymore, that he left us for that fucking ARCTIC WHORE!!”_

_“Well guess fucking what Mom, you NEED to get over it, ‘cos he’s_

_NOT_

_COMING_

_BA-”_

A sharp pain whipped across my left cheek, making me stagger back against the kitchen wall.

Small rivulets of blood began to drop from my face and onto the floor.

As I locked eyes with her, I saw the fiery spark of hatred burning in my Mom’s gaze, and it was only then that I realised how much damage had been done. Her right paw was still outstretched, extended claws stained red with my blood. For a while our panting was the only sound in the room.

Gradually, her expression turned to one of terror, her face scrunched up in pain, and she began to sob.

I wiped my face with the back of a paw and choked back a lump in my throat.

“I’m leaving,” I muttered quietly, before walking over to the table and putting the revolver, the money and both packets of blue powder into my bag. Carrying it out with me, I hastily left the kitchen and opened the door to my bedroom. The orange walls were plastered with posters of various musicians, films and books, but I headed straight to the big one of ‘Bunny Rich’, peeled it off, rolled it up and stuffed it into the rucksack. Next came clothes, of which I had very little, followed by a few books, most of my CD’s and an alarm clock.

The final thing I needed was funds, so I knelt down beside my bed and peered into the darkness underneath. I could just about see the loose floorboard that had been moved aside, and reaching into the rectangular hole, I grabbed three thick wads of cash.

Slipping the now very full bag onto both shoulders, I surveyed the remnants of my bedroom. An old framed picture of my Mom and I smiling together stood on top of my draws. I stared at it for a couple of seconds before turning out into the hallway; there was no room in my bag for anything else.

With an unsteady paw I pushed open the apartment’s front door and stopped. I could still hear my Mom crying in the kitchen, but the heavy fog of shock continued to cloud my thoughts, and I felt nothing.

I walked into the corridor, shut the door behind me and made my way down the staircase, my steps wobbly and exhausted. As I reached the foyer, I heard Viktor grunt at me again. This time I ignored him, quickly leaving through the large entrance. It was now practically dark outside; the only light being the soft orange glow of the street lamps on the sidewalk. I leant up against one of the lamps and sighed, letting the night air clear my head.

A cavernous well of terrifying and unwanted emotions began to bubble up to my conscious mind. Fragmented memories of the good times I’d spent with her as a kit, of us laughing together, of her being kind and loving invaded my thoughts, and the urge to cry became almost overwhelming. My Mom didn’t deserve cruelty, but that’s exactly what I’d given to her. I touched the bleeding claw marks on my cheek, the pain reminding me of deeper wounds that might never be healed.

Taking a deep breath, I wiped my watery eyes and hardened my expression; I needed a plan of action now.

I fished a small flip phone out of my short’s pocket and dialled Finnick’s number. After a few rings I heard his voice answer on the other end.

“Yo Nick, what’s up? Lost your present already?”

“Hey Fin...”

I swallowed.

“I-I need a place to stay for a while.”


	3. Fresh Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I've been gone a long time aha.  
> I think I owe it to Nick to finish this story.
> 
> This is a short interim chapter between flashbacks, something much longer is coming soon

Faith in Strangers

Chapter 3 – Fresh Air

1:15am June 21st 2012

“I never actually spoke to her again after that,” I said quietly.

Judy turned to me, looking slightly stunned, “What? Why not?”

 “I guess I never had the courage,” Playing with the fur on my ear, I sighed, “She used to call me all the time, almost every day after the argument, but I never picked up, I just listened to all the voicemails. The last one she left was about two years ago, telling me she’d moved to somewhere in PA.”

A small hint of sadness twinged the rabbit’s face, “Didn’t she come look for you?”

I nodded, “But I didn’t stay at Finnick’s for long, and by the time my Mom was knocking on his door, I had my own place. Plus, I wasn’t around to pay half the rent anymore, so she _had_ to leave Sahara Square eventually.”

Noticing her concerned expression, I continued with a wry chuckle, “Don’t worry, I’m disgusted with ‘nineteen year old me’ too, you don’t have to hide it. I was definitely a massive asshole.”

“No, no, I’m not here to judge,” Judy faltered, “I just can’t imagine living like that.”

“Well, consider yourself lucky,” I quipped before pushing the already open truck door out of my way, “Make sure you keep talking to your folks, Carrots.”

Awkwardly, I slid off my seat and climbed out onto the road, keeping my shoulder rigid and making doubly sure I didn’t tread in the puddle of vomit. The bullet wound complained, and I cursed under my breath.

“Wait, where are you going?” I heard the bunny ask from the driver’s seat.

“Just need some air,” I replied.

In truth, talking about my Mom had made me feel slightly sick, all the liquor I’d drunk had just reached my head, and the confined space of the truck’s cabin wasn’t helping my nerves. As I inhaled, the distinctly rural smells that filled my nose became more and more satisfying. Huge cities like Zootopia had a habit of giving me a headache with their polluted melting pot of scents, and that made this new simplicity a welcome change.

“You’re allowed to get out of the truck too, ya know,” I said, leaning against a headlight.

After a pause and some shuffling, Judy opened her door, hopped out and walked over. She perched herself on top of the truck’s hood, letting her legs swing off the ground.

“You don’t happen to have any smokes on you, do you?” I questioned.

She shook her head, “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

“Figures,” I mumbled.

For a moment the bunny looked to be contemplating something, “I don’t wanna sound presumptuous, but I’ve seen pictures of mammals who abuse howler, and you certainly haven’t got the same ‘half-rotted look’ that most of them have. I thought just taking it once was enough to get you addicted?”

That made me chuckle, “I wouldn’t say I was addicted, I can still function, and most of those far-gone cases are mammals who’ve been using the highly concentrated junk. That _really_ fucks you up, can make you super-violent and shit.”

“And you’ve sold that?” She asked curiously.

My smile died, “I...Yeah, I have...” I fumbled for some words, “Look, I never want those mammals to end up like that, it... It’s just the way it all works.”

Judy shivered as a gust of wind caught us, “Everyone has things they wish they hadn’t done.”

“Too right, I’m quite good at collecting those” I replied, taking out the bottle of whiskey and tipping back a mouthful.

Her brows furrowed in thought and she went silent.

“What’s on your mind?” I inquired.

“Was it this Finnick guy who got you involved in everything?” she questioned hesitantly, “It sounds like you’ve been friends for a while.”

I swallowed audibly, rubbing my eyes with the gun still in my right paw.

“I think I was about ten or eleven when I met Fin”, I said, “he was even more of an asshole back then.”

 


	4. Beer Cans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHQqqM5sr7g  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8dh9gDzmz8

Faith in Strangers

Chapter 4 – Beer cans

7:34pm 2nd August 1994

The layup was set.

Bouncing the basket-ball a couple of times for luck, I crouched, and then sprinted up to the hoop. Right before I reached the wall, I jumped, stretching out my arm to launch the ball up to the metal circle, but before it could leave my paw, a yellow flash batted it away and it ricocheted off the red bricks instead.

I arched my back and scowled at the cheetah who’d foiled my near-perfect layup.

“That would have gone in!” I protested, picking up the dusty rubber ball.

“Hah, you wish! Lemme show you how it’s done,” Justin waved his paws, gesturing for the ball. Frustrated, I threw it at him as hard as I could, but he caught it easily - at school he was always insufferably good at sports.

Folding my arms, I cursed nature under my breath. I wanted to be able to run and jump like Justin, like a cheetah with fast and graceful movements, but, being a fox, I’d only been gifted with a stubby snout and a massive tail that got in the way while I was trying to sleep. Mom always said I’d grow into it eventually, but I didn’t believe her.

The feline squatted below the basket, eyes fixated on the hoop. He jumped, almost a metre up, extending his lithe body and catapulting the ball to the centre of the backboard. It slipped through the ring effortlessly and Justin turned to face me, a huge smug grin plastered across his face.

“Now _that’s_ how you shoot a hoop,” he said smarmily.

Before I could get any angrier, a black shape sprinted behind Justin, snatching up the ball. I heard the gate to the open-air court swing closed, and two more figures entered my periphery.

“Sure, sure kid, you’ll be NBA material in no-time,” said the shirtless black jaguar who now stood in front of us, bouncing the ball between his legs. His voice was deep, and he looked a lot older than me; I guessed at least tenth grade.  Justin’s face morphed into a scowl as he attempted to swat our possession from the invader’s paws – but the jaguar moved too fast. I could feel nerves pricking at my stomach already; trouble with teenagers was the last thing we needed.

“Give it!”, shouted the cheetah, “it’s ours!”

The black feline chuckled smugly in response, bearing a set of long white teeth that glinted in the evening sun.

A voice from behind me chimed in, “Ay Lopez, give me a look-in”. I turned apprehensively and got a better look at the jaguar’s friends: one was an antelope, tall and lanky with a rucksack on his back– he was waiting for the ball. The other was a fox, like me, but a lot shorter and yellower – his eyes were obscured by a pair of Ray-bans, and a cigarette butt hung from his mouth. The fox didn’t say anything, but he seemed familiar, and his presence alone was somewhat magnetic. Behind the sunglasses, I could feel his gaze burrowing into me.

Lopez answered the request, and the basket-ball soared over my head, landing in the antelope’s hooves.

“This what you want?” he asked, holding the ball up at arms-length while I feebly grasped for it.

“Give it back,” I strained through gritted teeth.

The antelope ran circles around me with the ball and passed it back to Lopez, who promptly took an aggressive shot at the hoop. It was far too powerful, and the ball bounced off the ring, settling on the other side of the court.

“The fuck was that shit?’, the antelope quipped as he walked over to the jaguar, forgetting about Justin and me.

Lopez punched him playfully on the shoulder, “fuck off, like you’d do any better.”

With the strange miniature fox leading, the trio walked off to the opposite gate in a cloud of chatter.

Justin appeared next to me, holding the ball tightly in his paws. His face was scrunched, and I could tell he was irritated. I scuffed the ground with my dark-blue sneakers.

“I’ve seen them around outside school”, he muttered, “they’re trouble for sure.”

I sighed, “I think the short fox guy lives on my street.”

For all the warnings that both my head and my friend were giving me, I couldn’t help but admire the three mammals’ bravado. They had been trying to humiliate us, yes, but a growing, selfish part of me wished I was that intimidating - that cool under pressure. Memories of my attempt at joining the scouts resurfaced like the twinge of a wound; the insults, the shoving, and the muzzle. I wasn’t going to let my guard down like that again.

The fox and the jaguar were now sat on a park bench outside the court, with the antelope rummaging around in his bag. It was in the lush pink light of the sunset, bouncing off the walls of the white tower blocks, that I saw the first puff of smoke come from the fox. He passed something to Lopez who repeated the action, creating an even larger cloud.

“What d’ya think they’re doing?” I asked.

Justin turned away, spinning the ball on his finger, “Don’t know, don’t care”, he said with a huff.

Curiosity wrapped its claws around my mind and I walked towards the gate.

“Nick! Where are you going?”

I opened the wire-fence gate and trudged over to the bench, putting on as confident a stride as I could.

“I just wanna see what’s going on…” I said to the air.

Lopez noticed me first, tapping the fox beside him on the shoulder. I could smell it now, whatever they were smoking; it had a musky-fruity scent that made my nose wrinkle.

“What?” asked the fox, lifting his Ray-bans to stare at me again. His voice was almost indescribably low - the sonic equivalent of cream or melted chocolate.

I smirked nervously and shoved my paws into my pockets.

“What’re you smoking?” I queried as I watched him take another drag on the chubby cigarette-thing.

Smiles spread across each of the mammals’ faces, and the fox blew more acrid smoke into the air.

“This,” he murmured, sitting forward and holding out the burning bluish stick, “is howler, and it’s some _real_ good shit, I can tell you that.” He spoke slowly, emphasising every word.

“Gives you a kick, ya know?”, he continued.

I nodded, “a kick, yeah, I get you.”

The ensuing silence was awkward, and I inspected the ground, racking my brain for something to say.

“Can I try some?” I muttered, only briefly considering the implications of what I’d asked.

The antelope, now sitting on the other side of the bench, snickered loudly at my question, and I felt my mask of confidence begin to slip.

“Shut-up Winston,” came the curt reply from the fox, who looked over at his laughing friend, “the kid asked a question.”

Winston’s face deflated, and my pride remained intact.

I heard footsteps some distance behind me and turned to see Justin holding the ball, looking fed-up.

“Come on Nick, we’ve only got half an hour left out here!” he complained.

“Just a minute!” I replied half-heartedly.

The blue cigarette was in the jaguar’s mouth now, his exposed arms wrapped casually around the back of the wooden bench.

“Sure Nick, you can try some,” was the fox’s answer, and I smiled at hearing him use my name, “but first, you gotta earn that right. This stuff ain’t cheap, ya know?”

I nodded again, “What have I gotta do?”

Winston looked over to the fox and then back to me, a smug expression crossing his face.

“I reckon we could do with some beers round about now,” he said, “what do you guys think?”

“Sounds good,” chimed Lopez through the howler smoke. The fox nodded approvingly.

Winston pointed behind him, to the street at the end of the park, “there’s a convenience store just over there. You get us a pack of four and we’ll let you have a couple of puffs.”

The cogs and gears of my mind whirred as I spoke, “but I’m not old enough to buy alcohol, I’m ten.”

Scoffing, the antelope countered me, “who said anything about buying?”

Realisation hit my thoughts like a car crashing into a wall. I had been caught thieving before, but that was only by my Mom after I had taken ten dollars from her purse. This was a wholly different ordeal – it was proper shop-lifting.

My jaw lay slightly ajar as I attempted to form words. “I dunno…” I sputtered out with a chuckle devoid of humour; controlling nerves was not my strength.

“Come on man, you’re a fox!” said the fox cheerfully, waving his paw at me, “we’re the sneakiest motherfuckers around!”

Pushing my conscience to the back of my mind, I thought about what he’d just told me. I was a fox, that much was true, but I had never tried anything like this before. Images of all the fox-bandits and fox-supervillains from cartoons on TV swam through my awareness – they were always foxes.

“You can use my bag” said Winston, holding the red rucksack out in his hoof, “but you better come back with it, or you’re dead-meat.”

I imagined what the howler might taste like, how it would make me feel, and how awesome I’d look smoking it. I remembered the scouts of three years past.

“I’ll do it,” I stated firmly, taking the bag and slipping it onto my back. Before any of the teens could speak, I walked past the bench and towards the store, each step bringing a new spike of determination to my racing thoughts.

* * *

I had reached the edge of the grass, and I was about to cross the empty road, when Justin appeared next to me, panting slightly.

“Nick, tell me what the hell’s going on?!” he demanded, his voice sparking with anger, “you just left me back there.”

I sighed, gripping the bag straps, “There’s something I gotta do, ok? It’s important.”

The spotty feline sneered at me, “For those guys?!”, he shook his head, pointing back across the park. “They’re thugs Nick, thugs we shouldn’t be getting involved with. Why the fuck would you talk to them?”

“Look Justin,” my brows furrowed with frustration, “you can go do what cheetahs are supposed to do, like play basketball and be good at sports and shit. I’m gonna go do what foxes are _meant to do!_ ”

I hadn’t intended for my voice to get so loud – Justin looked shaken.

“What,” he mumbled breathlessly, “like steal?”

Our eyes met for a few seconds in the awful silence, and I could see the hurt on his face. I sniffled, turning to cross the road.

“Ugh, whatever…” he muttered bitterly, walking away.

I stood for a moment as I tried to compose myself; the butterflies in my stomach fluttering with intensity. Regret choked my thoughts, and my paw came back wet when I wiped my eyes. “No,” I whispered, this was not the time to cry, I had a job to do.

I examined the convenience store, taking in the large automatic doors, suitable for elephants, and the old pig who was stood behind the counter, chatting to a sheep in a baseball jersey. If I was quick and quiet I figured I might be able to get in without the shopkeeper taking much notice – leaving the place without buying anything, however, would be immediately suspicious. Rummaging around in my pocket, my paw discovered two crumpled dollars, and I sighed with relief.

“Here goes,” I said, ears pricked, and attention focused ahead.

The store’s huge entrance swallowed me up like the mouth of a beast, and, despite his ongoing conversation, the pig took notice of my presence instantly, flicking his brown eyes in my direction.  I stiffened under his gaze and quickened my pace into one of the aisles, pretending to browse the ‘medium-mammal’ sized candy. Thankfully, I could see the alcohol shelved at the back of the store.

The lone security camera was positioned directly above the lines of bottles and cans, and I prayed that the pig wouldn’t notice what I was about to do, on a screen or otherwise. Heart pounding and eyes frantically sweeping the store for potential witnesses, I shuffled over to the alcohol and slipped Winston’s bag off my shoulders. ‘Blue Moon’ looked the most appealing of the beers.

With my back facing the camera, and in one hushed and swift movement, I unzipped the bag, lifted a cardboard crate of four cans off the shelf, and gently placed them inside the empty vessel. The pig hadn’t so much as glanced my way, and I let out a long-held breath, realising that my paws were still shaking – perhaps this whole charade could go smoothly. After zipping up the bag, I slung it back on and grabbed a random chocolate bar from the candy shelf.

The jersey-wearing sheep was gone now, and so I put on the best smile I could, given the circumstances, as I placed both the chocolate and the two dollars on the counter. Boredom was the only emotion I sensed from the pig’s expression, and that was incredibly reassuring.

“Have a nice day,” he said dryly, hoofing me the candy and the change.

I turned to leave the store, the weight on my back making me particularly conscious of my movements.

The old pig’s voice sounded behind me, “hey, wait just a sec kid…”

I froze, his sentence assaulting my thoughts like a gunshot. Where had I slipped up? Had he seen me taking the beer on camera? I knew that my Mom would probably kill me if she found out about this, and then I’d never have a chance at smoking the howler.

Looking over at the shopkeeper, I found not a face of indignant anger, but rather the beginnings of a grin.

“You don’t know a Monica Wilde, do you?” he asked in a cheerful tone.

I nodded, smiling through my nerves, “yeah, she’s my Mom.”

“I thought I saw the resemblance!” said the pig, chuckling, “she’s a great gal your mom, my best customer probably. Always up for a chat.”

Relief was surging through my body as I listened, even though I had never actually seen my Mom in this store. Guilt tugged at my mind upon hearing the pig gush about her.

He continued, “You tell her Mister Kaminski said hi, ok?”

“Will do sir!” I replied, hastily exiting the store. My expression dropped to a frown as I stepped outside, and I practically sprinted back across the park.

Justin was now messing around with the basket-ball on the court, and Lopez, Winston and the fox were still sat on the bench – they didn’t seem to be smoking anymore.

The antelope cocked a sceptical eyebrow as I approached, asking “so, did you do it?”

“Yep,” I replied assuredly, passing him his bag, “they’re in here.”

Winston peeked inside and lifted out the crate of Blue Moon with a grin. “Holy shit, you actually got some,” he exclaimed.

“Gotta be honest kid, I really didn’t think you’d go through with it,” said Lopez, smirking, “but you fucking _delivered_.”

The beers were passed round, and I looked to the fox for the final validation of my exploit. Like before, he lifted his sunglasses and stared me down.

“You did damn good Nick,” he patted the space beside him on the bench and I sat down, beaming.

“We smoked all the last blunt,” he said, pulling something from his pocket, “but I got another one here. You can try it first, ok?”

“Sure!” I replied, taking the bluish cigarette from his paw. It felt thick, rough, and crudely put together, much more so than the cigarettes my Dad had once smoked.

The fox continued, “Now, when you’re smokin’ it, you actually gotta take the smoke into your lungs, or you won’t feel shit.”

An exhilarating cocktail of excitement, anticipation and nervousness flooded my mind as I put the howler between my lips. The fox produced a zippo lighter, flicked it on and gently lit the end of the blunt.

“Breathe,” he said, and I did. The smoke burnt as it travelled down my throat, leaving a vaguely sickly after-taste on my tongue – it felt like taking in a lung-full of acid.

For a split second, I resisted the almost unbearable urge to cough, but the inevitable came, and I spluttered out a cloud of white smoke.

“Take it easy man,” said the fox, chuckling, “just relax.”

My second attempt was more successful; the act still made my insides spasm in pain, but I managed to blow out the excess smoothly. I figured it must have looked pretty cool.

Passing the howler back to the fox, I savoured the ability to take in fresh air once more.

“You should feel it in like ten seconds,” commented Winston from across the bench. It ended up only taking five.

My vision was the first thing to go wild – my paws, the grass, the trees and even the tower-blocks had all started shimmering, as if coated by layers of mesmerising glitter. Details of colour and shape that I had never noticed before came into sharp focus, and I began to feel hyper-aware of my surroundings.

Then the euphoria arrived, surging into my brain like a tidal-wave of pleasure, making my ears, nose and tail tingle, and filling my mouth with the sweetest sugary taste. I felt like I could do anything and everything, all at once.

I turned to the fox with a wide-eyed stare.

“This is fucking awesome.” I proclaimed, shivering slightly.

He smiled, took a drag on the blunt and then passed it over to Lopez; it was the first genuine smile he’d given me.

“The name’s Finnick”, he said, passing me the final can of Blue Moon, “and I think I’ve seen you around these parts before, right?”

Perhaps it was the drug, or maybe it was just me, but as I sat with Finnick, watching Justin shoot hoops by himself, in that moment, I felt no sadness.

I felt like a fox.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I have a feeling there may be some pacing issues in this chapter, so please do comment any constructive criticism.
> 
> On the topic of Howler, the ficitonal drug in this story, I've always imagined it a little like cocaine (so you can snort or smoke it), but with different effects based on its strength. So if its very dilute, like in this chapter, it acts a lot like a cross between coke/mushrooms, but when its pure and distilled it acts like it does in the OG plot of Zootopia. Anyway, feel free to ask questions if you have any!
> 
> Also, writing authentic thoughts for a ten year old is really hard, I'm not sure I quite pulled it off.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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